By Dhimas Anugrah
Have you ever opened a fresh calendar and felt… a little overwhelmed?
As we step into 2026, our days are flooded with endless noise spilling across phone screens. Algorithms seem intent on shaping our choices, while economic figures dominate headlines as if they alone decide matters of life and death. The pace of everything feels relentless, yet beneath it all, our sense of direction often remains unclear.
Not long ago, a friend asked me with frustration, “What should I do this year, bro? What investments? What strategies are safe? Everything feels so uncertain.”
Such questions are natural, deeply human. Yet in the midst of practical concerns about how to survive, we often overlook a more fundamental question: whose time are we living in?
Across cultures, people have long measured time in different ways. In China and much of Asia, millions still follow the rhythms of the moon through lunar calendars, marking seasons and the harmony of nature. In other regions, the Hijri calendar guides the journey of faith, rooted in the migration of a revered figure.
Look closely, and every civilization has a “zero point”—a defining event or person used to anchor the flow of time. The question remains: who claims this time? Who do we choose to remember each time we glance at a date?
Amid the diversity of calendars, one system has become the shared framework for global life, even in the documents we sign daily: Anno Domini (AD), or what we now call the Common Era. The year “2026” carries within it a simple yet profound story that began in the 6th century.
How a Liturgical Need Became a Historical Revolution
The calendar system was devised by Dionysius Exiguus, a Christian priest and mathematician. Remarkably, Dionysius did not begin as a philosopher of history but as a calculator of time, tasked with solving a technical problem: how to determine the date of Easter accurately for the entire church.
For Dionysius, Easter—the resurrection of Christ—was the very center of existence. His goal was to ensure that all believers celebrated Christ’s triumph over death in unity. Yet beneath this practical concern lay a deeper pastoral unease. He longed to end reliance on a calendar that still marked years by the reigns of Roman emperors, remembered as persecutors of Christians.
To Dionysius, measuring time by the names of those who opposed the faith was a symbolic contradiction. How could the story of salvation be anchored in the memory of its adversaries? His solution was radical yet simple: to count years from the birth of Jesus Christ.
With that decision, Dionysius shifted the axis of history itself. Time was no longer framed by the glory of empires or the succession of rulers, but by a single event deemed decisive for the meaning of humanity’s journey—the Incarnation. Thus, the system came to be known as Anno Domini, “The Year of Our Lord.”
An Anchor of Faith for the Year Ahead
Recognizing that time has a central meaning calls for faith. If history has a center, then the calendar itself becomes a spiritual question: how do we live when our days unfold under God’s sovereignty?
Too often, the new year feels like a burden we must shoulder alone. We measure ourselves by “numbers”—our bank balance, career milestones, or the steady march of age. Yet the phrase Anno Domini reminds us that 2026 does not belong to our anxieties.
Our Lord is not a distant Creator who set time in motion and stepped away. He is the Alpha and Omega—the Beginning and the End—who governs every second of our lives (Revelation 1:8). He is the Master of time, never unsettled by economic shifts or technological upheavals.
But does He merely watch from afar as we stumble through the 365 days ahead? This is where the promise of Immanuel becomes essential.
Immanuel means “God with us.” His presence is not a brief visit during worship but a dwelling in the midst of daily life. The One who stands at the center of history is the same God who walks with us in a tense office, at a dinner table filled with worries about our children’s future, and in the quiet of a room where loneliness presses in.
The apostle Paul offers a deeply personal assurance for those entering the new year with fear: “My God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19). God’s provision is inseparable from Christ; it is in Christ that this promise is fulfilled. The Incarnation, the heart of Anno Domini, is also the foundation of our trust that God does not abandon His people.
This is our anchor: though the times may swirl with uncertainty, the character of the Master of Time never changes. “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8).
Walking with Confident Faith
To step into 2026 in the light of the “Year of Our Lord” is to walk with confident faith. This is not a faith that ignores reality, but one that sees reality through the lens of God’s faithfulness.
When my friend asked, “What should I do?”, the answer is no longer confined to lists or technical strategies. We must still work diligently, plan wisely, and live with discipline. Yet we do so free from the suffocating cries of anxiety.
We walk forward knowing we are not entering darkness alone. We are living in a time already redeemed by Christ.
2026 is more than a number on a page. It is a fresh canvas on which the Master of Time will paint His goodness. Anno Domini is not merely a way to mark a year—it is a declaration of hope. The God who has provided before is the God who provides today, and He is the God who will continue to provide until the end.
Welcome to the Year of Our Lord. May we lay down every plan and every hope before the One who has promised to remain with us, until the end of time.
Do you want Christ’s contentment to be with you all year long? Find out the answer in “Start the Year with a Contented Heart”!
Our Daily Bread Ministries in Indonesia is supported by the freewill offering of individuals in Indonesia, who through their gifts enable us to continue to bring the life-changing wisdom of the Bible to many here. We are not funded by any church or organisation.
